Unlikely Benevolance
by Bleach-ed-Na-tsu
Summary: Tsuna is serving his time in hell. The King watches one, intrigued and uncharacteristically concerned by this strange, pure soul who forewent paradise to ensure his subordinates own happiness. He watches on, taping his fingers in thought. Continuation/spin-off of Afterlife. Can be read by itself or after reading 'Afterlife'. Character death. Talk of hell, sin and torture.


**So this is a continuation, spin-off thing, from Afterlife. Now, I think I've written it in a way that you can read it alone or after Afterlife, but if not here's some things you need to know.  
Tsuna and his guardians died in an explosion.  
Tsuna was pardoned of his 'sins' while his guardians were sentences to a millennia of time spent in the 2****nd**** level of hell.  
Tsuna, not taking that, offered his soul for theirs, and since he died so young his 'karma' or 'precious soul' was not worth enough to save his guardians' seven souls and his own. Therefore he was sentenced to eternity in hell.  
That should be all you need to know, some people asked me to write a continuation and I've posted this as a separate story because I don't feel like the King of Paradise **_**would**_** let Tsuna off. But I had inspiration….so enjoy.**

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**Summary**: Continuation/spin-off of Afterlife. Tsuna is serving his time, not regretting and not breaking under the torment and pain of his punishment. The King watches on, intrigued and uncharacteristically concerned by this strange, pure soul who forewent paradise to ensure his subordinates own happiness. Can be read by itself or after reading 'Afterlife'. Character death. Talk of hell, sin, and torture.

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**Unlikely benevolence.**

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There was a man on a throne, overlooking glade upon glade of peaceful people and creature. The air was soft and warm, in places. It was hot and busy in others. His kingdom of kingdoms. All were tranquil, if they wanted to be; others were constantly on the move.

This was his land, of peace. Though he did own a land of torment.

Two lands, if you counted the separated kingdom where guards were posted constantly and where strong souls tormented themselves with the gift they were given by a soul so beautiful, even the green-eyed King of Paradise felt ashamed for implementing his laws.

With a snap of his omnificent hands his view changed as his throne spun, before him was a screen depicting his second land of torment. His true land of torment.

His eyes saddened as he watched a shackled man, hanging by his wrists with knees bent in defeat. His back was lashed with blood and poison, and you could see from the convulsion of his muscles that he was in an agony enough to kill.

Yet as there always was, when the man lifted his head and aligned his shoulders for the next blow, which he knew was coming, his head raised and his eyes, a beautiful brown burned with a golden hue of orange and yellow, swirling with the flames that were kin to the King's own.

That beautiful soul, tortured by no fault of his own. But by choice of his own.

The King leant his head on his hand, watching with what his head guard might call some kind of obsessive sadism. After all, the King never watched any soul like he did this one. In fact, no resident of the King's palace watched the tormented souls. Not until this brunet damned himself.

The man was unshackled and pulled to his feet as his guards moved him on, when he stumbled the guards righted him and the King's eyes narrowed.

The man, the damned, tortured man actually _thanked_ his guards for not letting him stumble.

"Richard."

Suddenly the shadows behind his throne morphed and moved away to reveal another creature much like the King of paradisewith eyes of burning red. A frown in place merely for show, the King knew this loyal soul was far more expressive than that.

"Yes, my lord?" he asked in a stiff accent-less voice that had neither a masculine, nor feminine tone to it.

"Where is he going now?" The King's eyes were still on the man's broken form, tears and blood. Never though, not since his trial and exile to hell in place of his guardians, had the King heard Tsunayoshi utter a single complaint nor scream of terror or pain. All he had heard were the soft murmured names laced with love and the small 'thank you' uttered when he tripped and was caught by his guards.

Richard paused for a moment, lifting his head to identify the soul in question. He didn't even need to fully lift his head –though he did anyway –before him the brunet hair and golden eyes locked the identity in place.

"That soul is on his way to level 27. His personal hell."

The king's fist tightened and the glasses beside him shattered. He stood and his throne crumbled from his power. It would be replaced, he knew.

"We are going."

"Sire?"

Hope, his voice had a strange kind of excitement and hope. Every loyal soul to the King dreamed of the day where he would act upon his omnipotent power rather than sit back so as to be fair and just.

"We are _going_."

* * *

Tsuna stumbled through the doorway, still standing as straight as a bowed and beaten back could. Neither complaint nor cry left his lips, though blood dripped in rivulets of damage. Tears streamed from bloodshot, raw eyes as he left another session in the damnable room.

Hell was no fairy tale, and Tsuna was glad for the uncountable time that Mukuro would never have to experience it again.

His guards had loose, stable grips on his arms, keeping him walking and Tsuna smiled at them in silent thanks that his shattered throat could not utter. It took almost a thousand years, but the guards had softened to Tsuna's ever burning orange. Tsuna was thankful and surprised when one day he was not shackled and was lead to his next level of punishment by soft hands, he had seen some souls shackled with spiked cuffs and fire leashes.

Tsuna was broken, and he knew he was. He was tired and worn and his soul was burning with clashing life and death. But he didn't regret it. He didn't regret the pain and torture or the eternal awareness of what was happening.

He didn't even regret the room he had just exited.

It was what his personal guard –as all souls were given one soul to oversee their entire damnation –called 'his personal hell' as his sins were enough to warrant five 'hundred year' blocks, every sixteen hundred years.

He had been in that room more than a thousand times and it was wearing him thin.

Tsuna even heard, during the short moments his more benevolent guards let him slip into a less lucid state, other guards whispering about how cruel his hell was. But it was self inflicted, as was the point of repentance.

Tsuna's brand of hell was a small, comfortable room, much like his office once was during life. He was not bound nor restrained and before him was a screen, much like one in the movie theatre, before him. Nothing was played on the screen, for the experiences in that room were all projected into Tsuna's mind, replayed and experienced by his soul's body as physically as if they were real.

Sometimes his soul convulsed because of the images and the sounds played to him.

Sometimes his soul died a thousand deaths in half an hour.

What did Tsuna see in that room? He watched his guardians die in a trillion different ways. He heard their dying screeches, their blame and their torment projected for him to watch and not be able to stop. He saw Lambo string up in the trees and Chrome raped. He watched as Mukuro was retaken by Estraneo and saw Hayato and Takeshi massacred by the demented.

None of it was real, but to Tsuna it was every fear he ever had. Every single insecurity as a boss, a brother, and a friend.

The worse 'clip' played to him was one where Tsuna stood over his guardians and _ordered_ their torture and deaths. This one was the closest thing in the various levels of hell that threatened to get a chocking sob and shattering scream from him. But luckily, some merciful soul or warden out there only ever played this for him twice in his entire time in hell.

Something Tsuna was ever thankful for.

Suddenly, Tsuna was thrown into a room so bright and warm that Tsuna was sure this was a new punishment not unlike his own hell. However, the warmth remained and the brightness died down until he realised that he was surrounded by people.

He was surrounded by eight people who he had come to terms with never seeing again beyond that horrifying reel of death and torment.

His guardians, all pure, beautiful souls dressed in simple clothes of white and cotton.

They were all crying, the burning red of their eyes and cheeks making them seem more ethereal.

They were all sobbing as Tsuna's tired eyes watched in horror thinking it was another hell, not wanting to believe the warmth was real. Especially when he noticed the older man standing just outside the group, missing his black shadows and hiding his face and tears below a white fedora.

Reborn hadn't died with them, and hadn't died for years after. Tsuna didn't know this, and seeing the Raven there, with his guardians caused him more pain as his imagination supplied the sickening hiss of 'Reborn is dead too, and you couldn't save him'. Tears welled and Tsuna collapsed again, waiting for the torment to settle.

"Your soul is so scarred, young man." An indescribable voice boomed, one of no accent but soft authority. "Why do you inflict yourself with so much pain, when your torture is done? Was never earned in the first place?"

Tsuna turned his head slowly, and the King sighed at the shattered confusion in those eyes that never stopped burning orange, even after so many millennia.

"Do you not remember soul?" The king's form was still hidden, and soft, intelligent green was begging for recognition. "Do you not remember, begging me for more punishment to save that black soul there?" He was pointing to Reborn, who was still hiding his face, but had been drawn closer to his ex-boss.

It appeared that none of Tsuna's guardians could see his interaction with the king, and looking now, Tsuna saw how flow time seemed to flow outside of this interaction.

And Tsuna remembered, suddenly and painfully all the memories from some uncountable time flooded him. And Tsuna remembered. His warden had approached him one time, his face cold and indescribable by colour or form, but Tsuna remembered, his eyes were a blue so clear it was soft. He had whispered to Tsuna, who was shackled to a wall with spines and poisons at his back, that his advisor had died and that he was heading for the deepest level of hell. Though only for a hundred thousand years.

Tsuna had arced off the wall immediately, his flames exploding out in a way that purified the room he was held, his shackled became bandages and his cell became clouds. It was the warden and hell's keeper's greatest problem, containing Tsuna's flames of harmony and strength.

"_You will not send him there. Not the man who raised me and made me who I am. I'll be damned a hundred thousand more times if I let him suffer any more."_

His warden, a creature of all and nothing sighed, sliding a hand through what would be assumed as hair in a very human mannerism. It was amusing to the wardens and guards alike that Tsuna could inflict human mannerisms and emotions upon them. They thought themselves free of that.

"_My master warned me of such and has an offer for you, damned soul."_

Tsuna had begged the warden to tell him the deal, had tried to take it before he knew the terms of the agreement.

"_My master's offer is this; he will extend your time within the lowest level of hell and extend your personal punishment by six hundred years each set. You will be made to witness your hell more often and your time within the first level of hell will shorten. This will last the prisoner's one hundred thousand years. Are you agreeable to this clause?"_

Tsuna had agreed with little hesitation. The pain and anguish he was subjected to within that time blanked his memory. Sometimes that was part of the punishment, sometimes the pain of losing a memory, or a feeling, or himself was enough for the Wardens.

There were times when Tsuna was just left in a blank room of white and left to his own thoughts. His imagination, the wardens and king were pained to find out, was far more brutal than many of the punishments inflicted on Tsuna.

"I….saved Reborn." It wasn't a question. It was a statement that began to heal Tsuna. Began to fade the bruises and stem the blood from his lips.

"Soul, you are a strange one. You are pure, and you do not cry and beg like the cretins here. I'll say it again; your soul is magnificent and would have made a startling angel." The king had his arms crossed, musing at the whipped soul at his feet. "You are broken now, soul, but soon you will heal again."

Tsuna watched the man smile, a soft smile that Tsuna recognised because of the warm glow of orange that wafted around the man. The king of paradise was a sky flame. It made sense, but his flame was so much more stunning than any Tsuna had ever seen. It was pure and gentle and commanding and strength. It was everything. It healed Tsuna inside, to know this wasn't a dream and such a malevolent man could exist in such a position of power and might.

The king approached, and Tsuna's guardians seemed to fade for a moment. This time though, Tsuna did not panic, and tears of a different kind filtered to his eyes as his Hyper Intuition, awakening from the stifling coma it placed upon itself to save Tsuna's mind from torment began to flutter excitedly.

The green-eyed, laugh crinkled man smiled, and his eyes closed as he gently kissed Tsuna's hair.

A blessing, a ticket.

A pardon.

"You are a beautiful soul, Tsunayoshi. You have made the omnipotent cry." He laughed gently as he soothed Tsuna's hair and cheek as a father would. "You have made me bend my own stern laws so that I do not have to watch your suffering any longer."

"Your friends are quite troublesome, young soul. It took every available guard to detain then in their shared Kingdom, and we had to change their kingdom every ten years; a feat no soul has ever accomplished before." As the man faded back, and his guardians' voices, their cried, their heat and love began to heal Tsuna once again he smiled again, the king's eyes welling with tears of indescribable emotion and pain. "Walk peacefully now, Tsunayoshi. You never deserved any time in hell."

"You made us wait, boss. So fucking long." Hayato gasped out when Tsuna turned away from the King who let a dead man walk. "You're a fucking idiot, boss. Why would you ever think we could relax and live in peace without our sky; our fucking brother there without us?!"

"We fought, Omnivore, for too long. I should bite you to death for even daring to take this upon yourself." Kyouya's voice was biting, as even he joined the group to hold and feed their sky with warmth and flames.

"It was not smart, Tsuna. You didn't deserve it, all this time..." Takeshi's voice was full of tears as he gripped Tsuna so tightly it was almost as if Takeshi had found his air again.

"No one should live through hell so long, Tsunayoshi." Mukuro's voice quivered, "Least of all the man who gave me, a resident and maker of hell, a home."

"Boss, please, please please never leave us again. We fought, so hard. We couldn't find you."

"Tsuna-nii! They said we would never see you again! They said you would never get peace! They said it was our fault!" Lambo was pressed against Tsuna's chest with his head in the crook of Tsuna's neck, sobbing uncontrollably with tears already wetting Tsuna's collar.

"That was not EXTREME at all, Sawada!" Ryohei scolded, tears in his own eyes. "You're a little idiot, sometimes. You need to play as a team!"

Then there was a sigh and Tsuna's eyes watched the figure in white approach. The fedora was tipped away from his eyes, and Tsuna had to wonder why Reborn ever wore black. The simply white shirt and white pants suited the man far more. Reborn's eyes were bloodshot, but Tsuna could see the pride, and sheer relief there, in the obsidian depths.

"Welcome home, Dame-Tsuna." Reborn sighed, reaching down to ruffle Tsuna's chestnut hair. "I'm proud of you."

It was only then, finally sure that he was home, that his guardians were safe and he was finally free did he break down. Only then did he allow the sobs of pain and loneliness shatter him into the arms of his guardians. He would let himself break now, when he was safe with his guardians once again. He would let himself sob and feel the agony he believed –still believes –was totally his to bear.

He would heal soon. Maybe in one hundred years. Maybe in one hundred thousand years. But he would heal, and then, finally, he could relax and allow himself the peace the mafia had stripped him of.

He could relax, and laugh, once again with his guardians.

Just like he had promised when they were children.


End file.
